


Human

by sterlingstars



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, Other, just so much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 06:52:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlingstars/pseuds/sterlingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years. Laurent spent five years alone, apart from all of the others, wandering the world in search of a family that he was not even sure was alive anymore. When he finds them, where does he go from there? Recovery isn't as easy as it looks.</p>
<p>Very small one-shot packed with too many feelings about my favorite nerd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this sadness. Just take it. Save me from this madness.

It has been five years.

It has been five years, alone, lost, afraid. Laurent has spent so much time waiting- so much time waiting and thinking and repressing. After a while, it became too much, and he tried desperately to turn it off, but it didn't work. It never worked, and he was left in the dust, tears streaming down his face even though the very last thing he wanted was to cry. What would his father say if he saw such a display? His mother? 

This was the cycle he suffered through. After so long, it was hard to make it stop. In the beginning, his logic overruled everything else- he knew, in his rational mind, that there was no reason for him to be so panicked, so overwhelmed. Surely, he would find the others soon, and things would move forward from there. For a while, it worked, and dissuaded him from his momentary flashes of panic. But when weeks turned into months, and months into a year, and then two.... it became too much. There was no such thing as stopping it, after that. How could he? Why should he?

There seemed to be no point. For a while, Laurent just sort of... drifted. There was a brief period of time where he was mindless, wandering wherever his feet decided to take him, because he'd run out of options. He didn't remember very much of those two months. They were a flash of sun and rain and emptiness, and he preferred not to think about it too hard. He was content to let the memories of those two months get swept away into the darker parts of his mind, where they would hopefully stay. 

Sometimes, he had nightmares. This became more frequent as time wore on , but in the beginning, they were sparse. Now, however, he can hardly go a night without waking up in a cold sweat, a broken noise of some sort (he can never figure out if it's meant to be a scream or a sob) lodged in his throat, ready to be loosed. It's a draining but now familiar routine. Everyone is concerned for him- there have been more than a few times where Cynthia or Inigo or someone else quietly roused him and asked if he was okay, did he need tea? Did he want to talk about it? He always shakes his head and tries to go back to sleep.

They're worried about him.

It's a genuine concern. He understands that they _should_ be worried- he was gone for _five years_. That's a long time. A long time, especially, to spend on your own. When he finds them, at first, they are constantly fluttering over him, asking him if he needs anything, if he wants to talk, if he feels well. While he appreciates their concerns, Laurent cannot ever find a way to say this. He's not sure how to use his words, or even how to fully comprehend his situation, so he usually shrugs them off. It's easier, this way- faking a smile and telling them he's okay at least puts their minds at ease, which in turn gives him some comfort. 

Perhaps he's childish for it, but it makes him feel better. If he can't be happy, at least they are. The least he can do is give someone else comfort when he cannot give it to himself. Simple words appease them (or at least they seem to, on the surface, and for once that's good enough for him) and he can be in peace. 

Peace. What a strange concept. He's sure he hasn't actually felt that in a very long time. He certainly can't feel it right now. He can't even be sure if he's dreaming or not, some days. 

There are days when he wakes up and isn't sure if he's even real. He feels as if he's moving in slow-motion, like he's been trapped in a pool of molasses, and he can barely open his eyes. His heart feels slow, his brain sluggish, and it takes a century for him to put on his glasses. He stays in his tent, on those days. He stays in his tent a lot, actually. Lucina asks him once if there's something wrong, and he just quietly tells her that he prefers his own company most of the time, which is not entirely a lie- so he feels less bad about saying it. 

He doesn't like lying to anyone, but he also doesn't want to tell them his painful truths, if he can help it. And when Lucina asks him, for the third time in one day, if he is okay, he wants to tell her everything. He wants to drop his tome and look her in the face and scream, and tell her that he is so far from okay that it's laughable. He wants to fall to his knees before her and sob, and tell her that he can't sleep, hasn't been able to sleep for years. He wants to tell her that he cannot look at his mother's face without choking back sobs. That sometimes he has panic attacks and can't stop shaking and crying for up to two hours, and that his fear is paralyzing. That if things are not in the right order he has to struggle to breathe.

But of course, Laurent does not say these things.

It would be selfish of him, he decides. It would be selfish and inconsiderate of him to pile his burdens onto someone else's shoulders. Especially someone like Lucina, who has her own troubles. He can't imagine being in her place. In any of their places, honestly. And he does not want to add to their burdens with his own, so he doesn't.

They ask him, sometimes, what happened. How he managed out there on his own. If he has any interesting stories, or met any interesting people. He tells them the few amusing bits and doesn't speak of the rest. They all know there's more that he isn't saying, but something about the look on his face stops them from asking for the rest. Eventually, they stop asking altogether, and he's not sure if he's relieved or sad. It's a strange feeling, and he tries his best to dismiss it. 

The weeks creep by, turning into months. Time is irrelevant. He still feels the same. He is surrounded by people who care about him, but he hardly feels anything. He pushes all of them away and buries himself in busy work. He organizes the finaces and keeps track of money and spends his days calculating numbers. He takes comfort in it. There is famialirty. There is permanence. Numbers will not change, and they always go in the same order, no matter what. 

Order. 

There is peace, comfort, in order. Things go in their place, in a certain way, and a calm settles over him. There is comfort in routines and rules and linear patterns. His things are neatly arranged a certain way, the numbers in the book fall in an even order, the creases in his robes are just right. He looks at these things and calm washes over him. Unless they are disturbed, all is well. There is no panic or bad thoughts here, dragging sadness tugging at the corners of his mind. Here, in this safe haven of order and familiarity, there is solace. He seeks it relentlessly. 

Sometimes, he spends consecutive days buried in the books. He gets little sleep when this happens, but that suits him well. He doesn't get a lot of sleep, anyway. And there is no use in sleeping when he can finally do something and be useful for once.

Perhaps that's one of the biggest wounds to come of this ordeal- his utter uselessness. Laurent spent five years wandering aimlessly, while Lucina and the others were making progress and doing their jobs. They were fighting battles, saving lives, and he was just... out there, doing nothing but feeling sorry for himself. What a waste. A complete and utter waste of time for all of them. The guilt he feels over this is immense and looming like a monster of lore, and he does all he can to make up for it. So he buries himself in the books, and quietly does his work. 

He should feel like he has come home, but... he doesn't.

Laurent doesn't feel anything, it sems. Nothing but guilt and sorrow and anger. A vicious cocktail of unforgiving emotions that torment him constantly. It's painful. Sometimes, he can't breathe for it. And he has his nightmares, and his panic attacks, and his obsession with order. He finds himself crying for no good reason sometimes, when he tries to sleep, and once, when Owain pats him on the back after a battle, he is so startled by the friendly contact that he has a small panic attack and nearly cries. 

It's going to take a while to recover, if he can recover at all. Sometimes, he is sure that he can move past this- after all, human endurance is startling in its potency. Other times, he is rooted in his despair, and is sure that he will never again be able to live his life as normally as he once did. It's a constant struggle back and forth between one extreme and the next, and most days, he is not sure how it will end. 

But, he endures. He has always endured. It's the only thing he seems to be capable of, anymore.


End file.
